August Wolf (Con or Conspiracy)

By Janna Hill

When young Jason gets too close to a resident (a self-proclaimed KGB spy who is under the watchful eye of an agent known only as Chandler) he finds his only way out is in.
What August Wolf Taught Me
Secrets too big to conceal are turned into conspiracies.
Truth is stranger than fiction.
The best place to hide something is in the open for no one can see what is under their nose.
And sometimes dead men do talk.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Janna Hill
• Release date: May 11, 2019
• ISBN: 9780463289600

Janna Hill

Janna Hill is an international author of fiction, short stories and poetry. She currently resides somewhere between the palm trees and pines and a forest in Texas. Her motto is: Fans are just friends and family I haven’t met… or wrote about yet. She has also been heard to say, home is where the blog is. You can follow her at home@ www.therealjannahill.com

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Copyright © 2017 Janna Hill. All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means without permission in writing from the author.

Most characters appearing in this work are fictitious. Some names and or spellings have been changed to protect the privacy of individuals. Embellishments may have been added under ‘artistic liberty’ for the sole purpose of entertainment.

Thank you for your support.

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Table of Contents

Copyright

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

About the Author

About the Cover

The Real Man

The Manhattan Project

Con or Conspiracy

More Books by Janna Hill

"

Why don’t you just kill the poor sonofabitch?

For heaven’s sake, Jason shuddered in disbelief, why don’t you just kill the poor sonofabitch?

Chandler’s face relaxed as his thoughts appeared to drift, but only briefly. He quickly shook off the melancholy expression and replied. I did once.

"

Chapter 1

Jason Carroll looked out of place. His starched khaki pants and white shirt appeared common and dowdy compared to his companions. The three men in suits, two of which he had never met, pretended not to notice.

He was dressed in his Sunday best, including a prized pair of full quill ostrich Tony Lamas. Chandler had said he looked nice, but thinking about it now he realized the compliment was nothing more than a polite greeting. He blushed at the conceit he’d expressed to his reflection before leaving home, before picking Chandler up on a lonely county road. Jason disregarded the inferior observation, hoisted his corner of the chest and began the trek across the silent graveyard.

The suited men marched quietly, in unison and without effort. Jason however, struggled to stay in step. He stumbled over headstones, kicked at least one bleached vase and disrupted a shallow rabbit’s den.

He looked down at the scuffs and dirt marring his boots and cursed.  The nameless suits at the head of the casket paused for a few seconds and glanced at one another. Jason strained to read their expression but there was nothing to read. Their eyes stayed hidden behind dark glasses and their faces were as hard as the stones around them. Chandler kept his face forward and lifted his brow. Jason mumbled an apology and the procession continued.

The man inside the cheap pine box weighed one hundred twenty-six pounds, at most. Jason knew because he weighed him the day before. 

He was relieved when they sat the box down.

He watched as Chandler turned the lever and the casket disappeared into a six-foot hole. Jason muffled a gasp when the coffer landed with a thud. Everyone else